


I'm Not That Kind of Doctor

by Whyistheskyblue



Series: You Can be My Compass [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Bruce isn't that kind of Doctor, Bruce most of all, Dear God tell a Joke, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, This fic is basically a laundry list of awful things that happen to Bruce, shrinks, the avengers all need a little help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whyistheskyblue/pseuds/Whyistheskyblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times someone used Bruce as a shrink<br/>+1 time Bruce finally went to someone else.<br/>I realized if I were to tag everything that happens in this fic the tag list would go on and on. And on. Instead I'm going to put warnings on each chapter, so if you have any triggers that's where they'll be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  Graphic description of asthma/panic attack 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks to Hope_06, who said she believed I could get Steve right eventually. Thirds time's the charm, right?

Bruce groaned and rolled over, attempting to extract himself from Tony's octopus hold without waking the inventor. The other members of the Avengers Initiative were sprawled across various pieces of furniture, the flickering credits casting shadows across their sleeping faces. Asleep and without their various masks and shields they looked softer, more at ease. Clint and Natasha were nestled into opposite sides of Agent Coulson, like small children snuggling with a parent. Natasha's arm was slung across his waist and Clint's face was burrowed in his chest, moving up and down with the agents steady breaths. Phil had an arm wrapped around both of them. Thor was sprawled in his armchair, feet planted firmly on the ground and his head tilted back. His gentle snores lapped around the room. Steve was – Bruce did a double take. Steve was no where to be found. 

“Jarvis?” Bruce asked, making his way to the kitchen. Jarvis muted the lights to 50%, sparing Bruce's eyes. 

“Yes, Dr. Banner?” The AI somehow managed to have a tinge of exhaustion in his voice, making guilt bubble in Bruce. 

“Location on Steve, please?” The last time the super soldier had wandered out in the middle of the night he had accidentally ended up in a strip club with no idea what was going on. Tony had teased him for weeks. 

“He would appear to be heading towards the living room. Would you like me to inform him you are looking for him?” 

“No thank you, Jarvis.” Bruce switched the electric kettle on before pulling his 'Frankie says Relax!' mug off the drying rack. The scientist slumped onto the counter, cradling his cheek in his hand as he waited for the light to switch from red to blue. 

“That's something I think I'll never get used to.” Steve sighed, appearing in the doorway. 

“The television?” The scientist asked, watching the brown stain from his tea swirl across the water. 

“Electric water heaters.” The super soldier laughed, setting the popcorn bowls in the industrial sized sink. 

“Still takes tea just as long to brew.” Bruce muttered, glaring at the mug like he could change that fact if he glared hard enough. 

“Ease up Doc, I'm pretty sure it's Superman who's supposed to have laser vision, not the Incredible Hulk.” 

“Superman isn't real.” The mutant murmured, moving to sit on a bar stool. Perhaps unconsciously, he was also putting the counter between him and the other man. A physical barrier Steve couldn't cross. 

“Doc, can I talk to you?” Steve asked, leaning forward onto the marble. His hands were inches from Bruce's. Bruce resisted the urge to stuff his hands under the table. He knew it wasn't Steve's fault he was Captain America, and the word captain made him think of the army, and the army made him think of Ross, and Ross – well, at the end of the day his entire situation was Ross's fault. “Doc?” Steve tried again, pulling Bruce from his musings. 

“Sorry.” The scientist blushed. 

“It's just, do you ever feel like you don't quite belong?” The soldier had this desperate, almost pleading look in his eyes. It had to be a trick of the half light, because Bruce knew Captain America didn't beg. 

“I'm sure, given your situation, a feeling of 'not belonging' is to be expected.” The doctor replied stiffly, looking back to his tea to avoid seeing if Steve really did have a kicked puppy look on his face. 

“It was before the displacement, too.” The soldier said, and this time Bruce could hear the pleading in his voice. “It was before the serum, even.” 

_“He's very artistic.” The social worker was saying, her dull brown hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. “Show the couple some of your pictures, Steve.” The boy sitting next to her on the couch blushed and handed over a well worn sketchbook. He was a thin thing; tall as anything but sickly thin. His hand brushed the woman’s as she reached for the grubby book. The couple sat in silence as they flipped, picture after picture. The woman was nodding, the man looked bored. They were an older couple, probably looking at older children because the orphanages told them they were too old for a baby or a toddler._

_“They're lovely.” The woman smiled, flipping a few more pages. The man grunted, then stiffened._

_“Fan of superhero's, boy?” Steve attempted to fight the blush that was creeping over his cheeks. He had hoped they would stop looking before they got there. The others had._

_“Yes, sir.” The mans lips tightened. Steve looked at his feet. “We're really looking for someone younger.” The man said abruptly, standing. The woman smiled sadly and handed the sketchbook back._

_“You're quite good.” She said, allowing her fingers to brush over his in apology. The couple exited quickly. Steve's chest began to tighten._

_“Chin up, Steve.” The social worker said, smiling. Steve could barely hear her._

_“Can't – breath.” He wheezed, falling to his knees. The world span around him, twirling into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. His fingers began to go numb. “Can't –” A racking cough shook his body._

_“Calm down.” The social worker said, her eyes panicked, running to the door. “I need help in here!” She called into the outer office. Steve lost consciousness as a final thought threaded its way into his mind._ Why does no body want me? 

“Even when I was Captain America, that was all people wanted. The icon, not the man behind the mask.” Steve glanced up from the swirling marble. “You still with me Doc?” 

“It's been a long day.” Bruce lied, almost jumping off the stool. “Steve, you do know I'm not this type of Doctor, right? That there are other people you should go to if this is a recurring problem?” 

“My apologies. I'll let you get to bed.” Steve peered at the man. 

Bruce walked stiffly out of the kitchen, his facade only lasting until he shut the door to his room. The lock clicked with a sense of finality, and that took Bruce back. He was seven again, and his classmates were locking him in the supply closet because they didn't want the brainiac to show them up. He was twelve and his father was locking the door as he exited the house, wanting to forget he had a son by drowning himself in alcohol. He was twenty-seven and doors were slamming and clicking shut around him as the people he had once helped realized what he was. He was thirty-six and SHIELD was tossing him into their glass cage, half hoping he would change and give them an excuse to drop him. Bruce ran to the bathroom and emptied his stomach, clutching the porcelain like it was an anchor to the reality that threatened to spin away from him.


	2. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  Prostitution of a willing minor (but dubcon)  
> Rape/noncon  
> Incest  
> Repeated sexual abuse by a parent  
> No graphic sex, however.

Bruce had finally gotten Tony into bed after three days of working on a particle transmitter. Bruce let him get the prototype was up and running (and yielding amazing results) before dragging him upstairs and having Jarvis lock down the lab until Tony had slept eight hours and eaten something solid. 

“You're jus' like Pepper.” The genius had moaned. 

“Good night, Tony.” Was the doctors response, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Where 're you going?” Tony whined. 

“To my room, to my bed.” 

“You coul' sleep wi' me.” Tony tried to sound seductive, ruining the effect by yawning at the end. 

“Good night, Tony.” Bruce said firmly. 

“'night Brucey.” The inventor responded, rolling over. He was asleep before Bruce had crossed the room and closed the door. Bruce sagged against the wall and sighed. Tony Stark was not conductive to his health, not even a little bit. 

“Dr. Banner, may I suggest you take your own advice and retire for the evening?” Jarvis asked, a little smugly. Bruce glared at the ceiling, knowing Jarvis would see his scowl in the dark. “Lingering out side sir's door doesn't seem to be the most practical of the available options.” 

“Duly noted, Jarvis. Thank you.” Bruce said dryly. He trailed one hand on the wall as he made his way towards his room. Unfortunately, this meant he had to go through all the common areas in the apartment. Of course, someone was heading to the gym. 

“Doctor Banner.” Clint seemed nervous. Nervous generally meant one thing for Bruce. 

“Agent Barton.” Bruce could delay the inevitable for as long as possible. The assassin chewed on his lip like a student asked to answer a question they didn't know. Like he was about to be put through public humiliation 101 and could do nothing to stop it. He chewed on his lip like he was trying to halt the floodgate of words that would keep him from holding his head up. 

“I can't sleep.” Clint dropped his gaze, eyes finding a spot on the floor to glare at. “Every time I close my eyes I see _him_. 

_Clint shed the gaudy second skin Isabella called a costume. The purple spangles danced in the dim electric lights of the costume trailer. The fifteen year old was fully aware of the way the outfit made him look, of what the men whispered of when they were drunk and didn't think he was near._

_”Barton.” Swordsman's rough voice pulled him from his musing. The older man glared as he quickly finished pulling on his clothes. “Your brother's looking for you.” His expression softened as Clint made his way to the door of the trailer. “I'm sorry.” His mentor muttered, quickly looking away. Clint knew it must have been a trick of the light, but he would have sworn he saw a tear glittering in the corner of his eye._

_Looking back, it probably was a tear._

_”There he is!” The forced edge of cheer to Barney's voice made Clint flinch internally. It whispered of alcohol and bad decisions. The fold up table was littered with cards and chips. Barney didn't have any._

_”Is there a problem?” Clint tried to sound cool and collected. It wouldn't be the first time Barney had gambled off a weeks worth of wages and the ringmaster let them go hungry as punishment._

_”Problem? Never a-” Barney began._

_”Your brother owes me more money than your ringmaster is willing to pay.” One of the card players spoke over him, his eyes glittering. “I could take it from his skin, but he offered a much more_ interesting _option.” Clint rubbed the bridge of his nose. This guy spoke like a bad movie mobster. The other men at the card table began to fidget uncomfortably. Several were other circus members and good friends of Clint's._

_”You could always say no.” The slur in Barneys voice told him that wasn't an option._

_”Your brother offered your virginity as payment. It's an option I'm willing to accept.” Clint decided he didn't like this man._

_”How much money are we talking here?” The archer demanded, fiddling with the fraying hem of his shirt. “a couple hundred?”_

_”Add a zero.” The man smirked. Clint squeezed his eyes shut._

_”Barney.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “You know better.” The handyman didn't even have it in him to look ashamed. “If you want any sort of privacy you'll have to take me somewhere else. And I'll have to be back in the morning to help load.”_

_”Man, you're awesome.” Barney slurred. The man, Clint still didn't know his name, grinned._

_”That won't be a problem.” His eyes glittered like the sequins on Clint's costume._

“He fucked me in a sleazy motel in Hicktown, Iowa.” Clint's normally stoic face trembled. "He didn't use a condom, he barely prepared me. I couldn't walk straight for a week.” Bruce nodded weakly, trying to figure out how to get back to his room as quickly as possible. Clint peered at him, expecting a response. 

“I'm sure SHIELD has psychiatrists you can talk too.” Bruce said gently. “You know I'm not this type of doctor, right?” Clint looked away, a blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“'m sorry.” he mumbled, shuffling in the direction of the gym. 

Bruce barely made it to his room before collapsing against the wall, shaking. Lowering his forehead to his knees, he screwed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. He refused to feel Brian Banner's hands wandering over him, the alcohol induced tremors tapping erratic patterns on his cheek, his stomach, his inner thigh. He refused to go back to being the little boy who cried for his dead mother on the nights his father didn't stumble into his room, and for a God who never answered on the nights he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Yeaka on "His way" (who has won all the internet cookies), I thought I might ask and see who you want next. I think it's time for a girl chapter, so Natasha, Pepper, or Deputy Director Hill?
> 
> Tally  
> We have a tie! I'll flip a coin and see who wins.


	3. Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  Emotional/Verbal Abuse  
> Graphic description of attempted suicide  
> 

People were rarely surprised to learn Bruce Banner was an atheist. They often assumed (as the captain did, after knowing both Howard and Tony Stark) it was a science thing. A genius thing. They were wrong. After all, Einstein was agnostic. For Bruce it was more of a what type of God would do this to me thing. 

When Bruce woke up the first time Maria Hill was the agent sitting next to his bed. The lights in the hospital wing of the helicarrier were never fully off, the ward cast into an eternal half light as nurses and doctors scurried on light feet. She had dozed off, a rosary wound between her sleep deadened fingers. Bruce blinked groggily, attempting to sit up and demand to know what was going on. His vision swam and he gave a small yelp, waking the Deputy Director. 

“Calm down, Dr. Banner.” He could hear the tension in her voice, the half controlled fear that came from being next to a wild animal whose handler isn't paying attention. He allowed her to push his body back into the mattress, pulling the scratchy blanket over his shoulders. The beads clicked in her hands as she manipulated his now willing form. 

“Never took you to be a religious woman, Deputy Director.” He murmured, half asleep again. 

“I wasn't always.” The woman responded, slipping the rosary over head and tucking the beads under her gray top. Bruce followed the movement, seeing something dark on her wrist when her sleeve pulled up. Without speaking, without thinking really, he reached for the woman’s wrist, half expecting to be stopped before he can touch her. Instead the woman lets him flip the limp appendage over and pull up the sleeve, revealing a smudge of makeup on the fabric and a small semicolon. Color rushed to the scientist's cheeks, aware of how intimate the information suddenly made available to him is. 

“I wasn't always religious.” Maria sighed again. 

_Her voice was bright as she thanked the nurse at the end of the line. He had been all too willing to answer questions for her 'school project'. She could hear his voice echoing in her head._

_“A whole bottle? That would kill anybody. No matter body mass or age.” The payphone was heavy in her fingers as she hung up, an air of finality settling on her shoulders. She fingered the bottle of Tylenol, recently relieved from the shelves of the local 7-11. A whole bottle would kill an underweight seventeen year old. The Chicago streets buzzed around her as she trudged away the phone booth, shrugging her threadbare jacket closer to her frail body. Nobody looked twice when she ducked into an alley, those who noticed figuring her to be a junky looking for a fix. The narrow space was disgusting, caked in decades of dirt, piss, and trash. A fitting place for the girl never wanted to die._

_“This is for my mom, who I killed.” She whispered, popping the first pill into her mouth. She swallowed before chasing it down with a mouth of water. “This is for my dad, when I ruined his life.” Another pill. “This is for screwing everything up.” Another. “This is for - ” The door across from her opened. A young priest gaped at her, a white apron tied almost comically around his robe and a trash bag clenched in his hand._

_“You're either trying to get high on Tylenol, which is stupid, or trying to kill yourself, which is also stupid.” He glared at her. She shrugged. “Which is it?”She put the bottle to her lips and started chugging pills like she was trying to win the milk bet at school. “Fucking Christ!” The man yelped, diving forward to wrestle the bottle from her hands._

“I would have died, I wanted to die.” The woman admitted quietly, her hands playing with the beads around her neck. “My dad had convinced me my mother death was my fault and I would never be able to do anything right.” Maria sighed and dropped her hands to her lap. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. You have my apologies, you're not this type of doctor.” 

Bruce fell asleep in the silence that followed and dreamed of putting the gun to his head, of pulling the trigger. Of the transformation to the Hulk, and of the Hulk spitting the bullets into his lap. He dreamed of Hulk's neck busting the noose he had wrapped around his own, of the Hulk puking water and cheap bourbon all over the bathroom of a sleazy motel. Tucked into his dreams Bruce didn't know Maria had left, or Tony was the one sitting next to him, holding his hand as he thrashed and moaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another poll - and I'm feeling Asgard. So, Thor or Loki next?
> 
> Tally  
> Loki won.


	4. Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  abuse of power/authority  
> graphic descriptions of violence  
> nongraphic descriptions of torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This chapter ended up much longer than any of the others. Loki was a good choice, thanks for the feedback. 8)

Watching Tony mother hen over Bruce in the days after he returned from the helicarrier was amusing. He all but climbed into bed with Bruce his first night back, only cowed when Bruce told him, in no uncertain terms, he needed privacy. 

“What happened, anyway?” Bruce wanted to know, sitting down to breakfast. It was Steve's turn to cook, which meant the super soldier was making eggs to order and bacon. 

“Nobody's sure.” Tony stopped chewing long enough to answer the question, half eaten food flashing before he closed his moth and swallowed. Steve rolled his eyes. “The lightening mutant dude hit the big guy full on, and next thing we know _he's_ trying to change into _you_.” 

“The working Shield theory is that Hulk was in so much pain he was trying to escape it the only way he knew how to.” Natasha volunteered, spearing a neatly cut triangle of poached egg. 

“And since Hulk didn't work his mutant mojo to absorb all the damage, there were consequences for you.” Clint dragged a biscuit around his plate, soaking up the last of the orange goo that resulted when he mixed egg yolk and catsup. 

“Which, considering you were hit with enough electricity to keep the eastern seaboard running for five minuets, is pretty okay.” Natasha finished, pushing her plate away and rolling her neck. 

“Hulk retreated into me?” Bruce asked, brow furrowing. His toyed with his mug, nervous fingers clicking over the ceramic. 

“Seemed that way.” Steve shrugged, sitting down with his own eggs. “I mean, one minute he was doing his thing, next minute there's a flash of light and roar and you're there, entirely human and passed out.” The team finished their breakfast in comfortable silence. Bruce did his best not to jump every time Tony's knee hit his under the table, the unexpected contact putting him on edge. 

“It's Tony's turn to do dishes.” Natasha announced once plates had been pushed aside. 

“Tasha.” The genius groaned. His complaint was cut off when the wind began to race around the room. That only ever meant one thing. “Grab the dishes,” Tony yelped, “this is a new set.” The avengers obediently grabbed the breakables, waiting as the the wind circuited the room faster and faster, almost reaching hurricane speeds before settling back down. 

“Friends!” Thor bellowed, his voice echoing around the room. Bruce winced, resisting the urge to grab his ears. 

“Thor, there's a porch for your teleporting trick.” Tony sighed. “You know, so you don't leave the inside of my house looking like Hurricane Thor just hit.” 

“I know, Friend Tony,” The large man replied, frowning slightly, “but I brought a guest.” As one the group swiveled to look for the guest Thor spoke of, and saw Loki. The god had obviously fallen many stations; gone were the fancy clothes and the smug attitude. He stood before them in worn cotton clothes, his face emotionless. A dark bruise shadowed his jaw. Natasha's face went blank, Clint went pale, Tony looked like he might throw up, and Cap was livid. 

“How do you do, Mr. Laufeyson?” Bruce asked, appearing calm. Loki flashed him a smile that promised pain, all sharp teeth and no mirth. 

“As part of Loki's rehabilitation, he must spend time among the general populace of Asgard. However,” Thor motioned to the heavy chains Loki had wrapped around his wrists, “the chains binding his magic aren't the most practical thing.” 

“That doesn't explain what the fuck that maniac is doing in my tower, Thor.” Tony growled. 

“I was hoping you and the good doctor would see if you could replicate their affect.” Thor replied. “This is all magic can do, so I was hoping to turn to your midgaurdian technology.” 

“I'll do the dishes.” Clint said faintly, running around the table collecting plates before dashing out. 

“He'd better not break something.” Tony grumbled after Clint, standing. “All right, let's get you and reindeer games to the lab.” Bruce followed silently. 

  


Bruce had never seen Tony actually want to leave the lab, but when Thor had suggested shawarma the man had all but jumped out of his chair and ran for the door. Bruce had volunteered to watch Loki. 

“On the table.” He ordered the god, tapping his foot in impatience. 

“What is this, Banner?” Loki hissed. 

“You've been nursing bruised, possibly broken ribs all day. I'm willing to bet the manacles that stop your magic are also stopping your healing. Now on the table and shirt off.” The God gaped at the man before doing as instructed, hissing slightly as he levered himself onto the exam table. Bruce hid a small gasp when he gripped the shirt by its hem and pulled it over his head. Loki had obviously been more than banged around. The layers of bruising spoke of repeated abuse, the shallow cuts on his back and forearms of being thrown into rough stone surfaces. 

“I believe you said this was an exam, Dr. Banner. Not a gallery opening.” Loki gritted out through clenched teeth. 

“Apologies.” Bruce said blankly, stepping up to the table. “First things first, I want to look at your ribs. Could you raise your hands over your head, please?” The god complied, unable to hide the flash of pain in his eyes. Bruce prodded the swollen lump, relief washing through him when nothing shifted or bent. “You can lower them. I'll wrap them when I'm done looking at your other injuries.” 

“You are not a doctor of medicine. How do you know these things?” The trickster demanded. 

“I've spent a lot of time in third – world nations. I generally cared for the sick or hurt as a way to ingratiate myself with locals.” Bruce pulled a stethoscope from his bag. Loki flinched when the cold metal was pressed to his chest. “Cough.” The god complied. 

“You're not going to ask the obvious, are you little mortal?” Loki pushed Bruce away. “You don't want to hear the details of how a god fell to such depths?” 

“That's your business.” Bruce snapped, digging in his bag. 

“You don't want to hear of your triumph? Of how Thor dragged me to Asgard and the mercy of the All-father?” Loki asked, his voice slipping seductively in Bruce's ears. “Of how, when bound in these chains, I can feel my magic missing. I can mourn its loss like one might mourn the loss of their sight, or their hearing.” 

“Loki, I – ” Bruce tried, turning with the bottle of naproxen sodium. The god was crying, tears glistening in the bright lab lights. 

“Not even you want to know, Dr. Banner. You don't even wish to hear of your glory over me. It was all you, and not even you can be bothered to care.” 

“Loki.” There was a desperate edge to the scientist's voice. “Just take these. It'll help with the pain.” 

“You don't care what they did to me because of you.” 

_The guards found it amusing to come to Loki's cell. What was more satisfying then seeing a fallen prince writhe at your fingertips? Then knowing he couldn't fight back? What interested them most, however, was his lost ability to heal. It made him more of a freak, more of an oddity. They could bang him around and push him into wall or onto the floor, and the next day the bruises would still be there, like a broken toy._

_“Loki,” one of them sighed when he tried to get up from the floor. A vicious backhand sent him tumbling back down. “When will you learn your place?”_

_“I am a prince of Asgard. It is not for you to tell me 'my place'.” Loki sneered. The guard sighed again, then planted his foot on Loki's chest and_ pushed _._

_“Your place is where one of your betters tell you it is. Right now, I'm your better.” The guard sneered. Loki grunted as the breath was pushed from his lungs, his ribs bending as the man put more and more weight on his chest. Loki could feel the grime of the place seeping into his back through the thin prison garb. He could smell piss and blood and the underlying edge of desperation.”Do you understand?” The guards asked, pulling his foot up to allow Loki a shuddering, gasping breath. Eyes wide, the god nodded. Not because they had broken him so fast, so easily, but because he was the trickster, and he knew when to play meek. “Answer when your betters speak to you.” The man demanded, shifting his stance so one of the long fingered hands was trapped beneath his boot heel._

_“Yes.” The man ground his hand into the floor. Loki could hear the small bones snapping. “Yes, sir.” He tried again, before unconsciousness descended on him._

_They did not break the trickster that time, nor the next time, nor within the month or the year. They chipped away at him, however; leaving little pieces of Loki littered on the ground until there was more debris than man._

The trickster broke off from his narrative, wiping the tears from his face with his shirt. “I apologize for my outburst, Dr. Banner.” The god said, his voice neutral. Even without his magic he could see the sheen of sweat on the mutant's forehead, hear his pulse beating double time, smell his fear. 

“Take two of these every four hours. If that's not enough take one more every two hours.” Bruce rushed, almost dropping the pill bottle as he shoved it at the god. The scientist packed everything else into his bag and prepared to leave. 

“Dr. Banner,” Loki called, stopping him in front of the door. He waited, tense. “I thank you for listening, and I apologize. You are not a trained practitioner of medicine. Not of the body nor the mind, and it was wrong of me to unburden myself onto you.” Bruce knew that Thor only spoke like that when nervous or high strung, and figured it was safe to assume the same applied for Loki. 

“If your ribs had been broken they would have caused serious damage.” Bruce said, ignoring the second half of what the god had said. 

“Regardless, kindnesses unto me have been few and far between as of late, and I thank you for your consideration.” 

Bruce made it into his room and his bed before the memories overwhelmed him this time. He was hiding in the desert. His camp had been found, he was being frog marched down a hallway, his hands tied behind his back and his head lolling from the sedative. Then there was General Ross, who promised he would get an army from Bruce. Bruce was saying no, and there were men with hard hearts and heavy hands. There was the waiting and the questions, day in and day out and always _always_ the ever present pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another poll - and I honestly have no idea who next.  
> Result - Hulk won!


	5. Hulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  Graphic and Nongraphic descriptions of violence  
> Domestic Abuse of both a spouse and a minor  
> Death of a Minor Character  
> Mentions of Alcohol Abuse  
> Self Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I feel a little bad having to tell everyone this. I'm going to be afk until late sunday/early monday. And it's _right before the final chapter_ . I wish I could say it's part of a nefarious scheme to get more readers/bookmarks/kudos's, but the unfortunate truth is I have a family emergency. Rest assured the final chapter will be here by midnight monday (CST), and it's actually already started. Normally I would just stay up, finish it and save it as a draft so it could be posted from my phone later, but I have a long drive tomorrow that I need to get at least an hour of sleep for. Thanks for reading, and sorry for the wait. 8)

Despite what people though, what Bruce let the think, Bruce Banner and Hulk were not two separate people. The shy, gentle scientist and the raging monster were, in fact, two sides of the same coin. Bruce knew his psyche was horribly fractured, that his anger management problems were, as Tony had once said, breath-taking. He was remarkably apathetic as to the fact. He was over being upset by the fact he was the Hulk. He was not over, however, being upset when the Hulk killed innocent people, or caused damage he did not need too. 

“Hulk.” Bruce called, letting his voice carry through the empty desert. He shrugged off the heavy feeling of physical limbs as he wandered the dream-scape, looking for his alter ego. “Hulk.” 

“Banner?” Hulk asked, emerging from the landscape. In the half light he had been unnoticeable among the dunes. It did not surprise Bruce that Hulk was partial to deserts. He had been born in an accident that had occurred in a desert and had spent much of his life hiding in them. 

“Hello Hulk.” The scientist greeted. He thought a moment, then sat on a large rug that had suddenly appeared. “And here we are, breaking the laws of physics, again.” 

“You're words confusing, little man.” Hulk growled, before joining Bruce on the rug, attempting to sit cross legged like the Bruce was. 

“Do you remember what we talked about last time, Hulk?” Bruce asked, taking off his glasses to polish them. It was a useless gesture in the dream world where nothing dirtied, but Bruce wanted to avoid eye contact for as long as possible. 

“Hulk didn't think Banner come back.” The mutant sniffed, his head tilted to one side as both he and Bruce were prone to doing when trying to figure out a particularly complex puzzle. 

“ _I_ didn't think _you_ would come back.” Bruce corrected. 

“I didn't think you would come back.” Hulk tried again, twisting his mind around the idea of pronouns. 

“Why would you think that?” The scientist asked, taking his turn to tilt his head. A blink and a moment of concentration brought two mugs (one normal size, one Hulk sized) and a thermos. Bruce poured while waiting for his alter ego to respond. 

“Hulk – I didn't protect you. You are small and fragile, and it is Hulk's job to keep you from hurting.” The mutant said slowly, remembering not to roar and hurt Bruce's ears. 

“It is _my_ job to keep you from hurting.” The doctor corrected, waiting for Hulk to parrot back before continuing. “Hulk, you can't protect me all the time. No one can keep another person from hurting constantly.” He explained, his heart sinking. 

“Hulk smash what hurt's Banner.” The monster roared. Bruce's hands flew to his ears. “Sorry.” Hulk said, almost whispering. “I smash what hurt's you.” 

“No worries.” Bruce passed Hulk his mug, smiling when the mutant sniffed it suspiciously. “Black tea and vanilla.” 

“Like medicine woman in Amli make for cough.” Hulk commented, sniffing again. Bruce blinked in surprise. 

“Yes, like she made.” Bruce paused to drink. “There are many types of pain Hulk, physical is only one of them.” 

“Is pain in here another?” Hulk asked, patting his hand over his chest. “Like you get when you see tin man drink, or think of mother?” 

“That's emotional pain.” The doctor replied. “Now drink your tea.” The doctor closed his eyes. He did not want to think of Tony's drinking problem right now. Didn't want to think of Tony and the complicated emotions that bubbled in his chest when he did. 

“You having emotional pain now?” The mutant asked suspiciously. 

“Yes, but I'd rather not talk about it.” Bruce replied. It was useless to try and lie to Hulk. It was like trying to lie to a part of himself. It was trying to lie to a part of himself. “Have you been practicing what we did last time?” 

“Yes.” Hulk's face lit up like a child about to show off a new toy. His massive face scrunched in concentration, and a single green balloon appeared before Bruce. Gingerly, Hulk picked up the balloon, passed it from hand to hand, and batted it into the air, all without breaking it. “Balloon green, like I am green.” He smiled, the serious subject of pain forgotten for the time being. 

“That's very good, Hulk.” Bruce smiled, watching the mutant bat the balloon in the air with his face screwed up in child like focus. “Want to try something new?” 

“New?” Hulk asked suspiciously. “Today is not the day new things. New things come on Wednesdays.” 

“Still, I thought a break in the schedule might be fun.” Bruce reasoned slowly. 

“We will try your new thing.” Hulk agreed, sitting again. Blocks appeared in the middle of the rug. “Blocks.” He said slowly, placing an unknown childhood memory to the soft, foam toys. 

“We're going to try building.” The scientist smiled, placing his tea aside and stretching. 

  


The two built increasingly complex structures together, Hulk getting excited every time Bruce gave him the okay to smash. It was a good, simple way to pass the time. 

“Banner?” Hulk asked hours later. 

“Yes?” The two were seated in the middle of a ring of blocks, the night air bringing half remembered sounds of desert life to there ears. 

“Hulk has hurt here he wishes to speak of.” The mutant put a hand over his heart. “Emotional hurt.” 

“Of course.” Bruce was half tempted to sigh. “What is it?” He asked instead, pouring more tea from the bottomless thermos. Physics had never really applied around him and Hulk anyway. 

“Let me show instead.” Hulk shifted to where he was kneeling in front of Bruce. The doctor swallowed. He had forgotten just hoe _big_ his other half was. “Won't hurt.” Hulk promised. Then Bruce was spiraling away. 

_The battle was swirling around him, each sense blown up to be larger than life. Hulk was trying to remember the things Banner had told him. No smash if it wasn't a bad guy. No smash through walls unless necessary. Suddenly the familiar people (the ones Hulk should never, ever smash) were swarming around him._

_“Barton said he came this way.” Cap was saying, pressing into his ear. “How's my eyes up top Hawkeye? Any updates?” Hulk knew Hawkeye. He was the one who dove into Hulks arms from up high. He was the one who needed Hulk._

_“Lets keep moving.” Tin Man said. Tin Man was also Tony, the one Bruce had complicated feelings for. The one who made their heart beat double time. “You seen him go past, big guy?”_

_“I no see.” Hulk said, wanting to get back to the fight, wanting to smash._

_“Banner's been teaching him pronouns.” Cap remarked quietly. The quiet woman, Black Widow (or Natasha once the fighting was over) stood to one side, checking the thick gold bracelets she wore around her wrists._

_“I agree with Stark, let's keep moving.” She finally said, spinning on her heel to leave. The other two followed her out. Then Hulk was smashing again, metal flying things crumbling under his fists. An undetermined amount of time passed. Hulk was caught in the whirlwind of the battle, of smashing, and then there was a sudden pain. Roaring, the mutant spun, giant fists crashing through several more robots. The man Cap had been looking for stood before him, a trail of blood oozing from the side of his mouth._

_“Remember me, Banner?” He asked, a cocky grin encasing his lips. Hulk watched him lick blood of his teeth, the pink appendage swiping once, twice, three times before settling back in his mouth. “I remember you.” He raised his hand and fired, just like Tin Man would (but Tin Man would never fire on the team). Hulk could feel every nerve ending. He could feel each one being burnt to a crisp, fried by the blue light the bad man was shooting. He could vaguely hear himself roaring, his pain echoing around the buildings as he was brought to his knees. When the blue light was gone the pain was still there, and Hulk could only think of one thing to do. He dove into Banner, desperate to escape the pain that was consuming his body._

“Hulk's only job is to protect Banner, and he couldn't even do that. What is Hulk good for, if not to keep Banner from harm? Banner is weak. Banner is puny, like child. Banner need – ” The mutant broke off, tears streaming down his face. “But you will just say, like you always do, you are not this type of doctor.” 

“Hulk – ” Bruce tried, reaching out a tentative hand. 

“Go! Leave! That's all you do, you run.” Bruce was being forced out of the dream-scape, out of his head. “Just go.” Hulk whispered, the thought echoing once around his head before he was forcefully pushed into awareness. 

Bruce sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest. At the end of the day, he couldn't even face the problems of his alter ego. How could he ever expect to fight his own demons, if he couldn't conquer his child hood rage? Because that's what it was. His rage over the loss of being unable to protect the one person he cared for. He could feel the woman shaking him awake, holding a finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet. He shrugged on his jacket and backpack, followed her down the stairs and past the living room, where the flickering television meant his father had passed out there, drunk before he could make it to the bar. His mother unlocked the door and quietly, oh so quietly, pulled it open. Then they were free, or thought they were. Brian appeared out of no where, his tie half undone and his shirt disheveled. He pulled Bruce away, tossing him onto the rough concrete. Then he was banging his mothers head against the sidewalk, until it broke like an egg and leaked blood like yolk, runny and gooey and shiny. And all Bruce could do was watch. Watch and wait silently, hoping he wouldn't die next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody reading this will no doubt notice I borrowed heavily from "Irreconcilable Difference" by determamfidd if they have read that too. It comes with my highest recommendations. [Irreconcilable Differences](http://archiveofourown.org/works/592408/chapters/1066555)
> 
> Thank you so much for all the Kudos's and comments. This story really has gone amazing places, and is a far more in depth look at the good doctor than the (slightly humorous) set of drabbles I had planned. Instead it's an emotional roller coaster that has even me on the edge of my seat sometimes.


	6. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> *****TRIGGERS*****  
>  Drinking as a way to handle problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, I'm a couple days late. Life sort of imploded. And, yes, this chapter is kinda short after making you wait so long. However, there's a series in the making I think. Fingers crossed?

Tony knew. He didn't sit outside Bruce's door at night and listen to him toss and turn. He didn't have Jarvis pull up the video so he could watch his scientist shake apart in his bedroom. He knew by the different brands of sadness that occupied Bruce's eyes when he stumbled, half awake, into the kitchen in the mornings. He knew by whether Bruce made tea, or went straight for the coffee pot. Tony knew. And, he knew this morning was different. 

Bruce stumbled up the steps from the lab, his hair askew and his shirt rumpled. There was a sort of self loathing in his eyes Tony had only ever seen in the mirror before, the type that made most people reach for the phone and tell the operator they had a possible suicide case on their hands. 

“Whoa, big guy.” Tony caught Bruce as he stumbled, almost tumbling headfirst into the counter. “Last I checked last night was not super awesome lab all nighter night.” Tony frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Last I checked there wasn't anything going on in the lab.” Bruce shrugged helplessly before lurching away from Tony in the general direction of the coffee maker. 

“Happens.” He slurred, the word tripping off his tongue. Tony crinkled his nose when Bruce's breath hit him. 

“Bruce? Buddy? Have you been raiding my liquor cabinet?” 

“Happens.” The word bounced this time, followed by laughter that raced around the room before falling, broken, to the floor. 

“Back to the lab.” Tony decided. “Come on big guy.” Bruce followed Tony willingly, clutching the hand the inventor pulled him along by like it was his only anchor to reality. After two very close mishaps on the stairs (one of which left Tony with a nasty bruise on his elbow) the inventor got to see exactly how much the scientist had drunk. 

“You could have said you drank everything.” Tony murmured, settling the mutant onto the couch. Bruce sighed and flopped backwards, burrowing into the blanket Tony had draped around him. 

“Didn't want to go upstairs.” Bruce shrugged. “There wasn't enough to forget it all.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, banging it into the wall. 

“Forget what?” The scientist asked, settling next to the inventor. Their knees knocked together when the mutant shuddered. 

“Everything. Nothing. Life.” The broken laugh bubbled out of his lips again. Tony decided he didn't like that laugh. It lacked the warmth and the happiness and everything that made Bruce _Bruce_. “I just want to forget.” 

“You really need to tell me what you wanted to forget so badly you drank the equivalent of a liquor store.” 

“Everything.” Bruce breathed, the liquor on his breath invading Tony's space. “My dad and Ross and Hulk and everything. I want to forget hurting. I want to forget people who take without asking. I want to forget fingers that touch and never leave marks but leave scars miles deep. I want to forget being broken.” Bruce's voice cracked on the last word, a tiny tremor running through his body. “I want to be a person again, Tony. Not the parts of one.” 

“We're all a little broken here, Bruce.” The genius murmured, “It's almost a requirement.” 

“I want to forget running. I don't want to run anymore.” The words tripped and stumbled against each other as Bruce pushed them out, tears sprinting down his face to join the words that raced from his mouth. 

“That's why your here now, big guy. You don't have to run anymore.” Tony tentatively reached out to stroke his hair, torn between attempting to comfort and scared of unleashing bad memories. The scientist leaned into his touch, hiccuping sobs echoing in his chest. “You don't have to run from anything anymore.” Bruce burrowed his face into Tony's shirt, fisting his hands in the soft material. His tremors shook the two of them. Tony shifted his arms to circle the genius's waist, pulling him closer, even once the tears had stopped and Bruce had dropped into an alcohol induced coma. 

The inventor fell backwards, dragging Bruce with him as he attempted to find a comfortable horizontal position. If he somehow ended up sandwiching his scientist between his body and the couch, playing big spoon to Bruce's little spoon, he never admitted it. And if Bruce found Tony's hand and entwined their fingers before holding the entire limb to his chest in a brief moment of lucidity, he'll never admit to it. No matter what the two will admit to, and no matter how they woke up later, Clint Barton knows what he saw from the vent when Steve sent him to make sure the pair was okay after not emerging for over half a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote.  
> I'm just going to say again, that this fic has been an adventure. Thanks so much to everybody's comments, ideas, and kudos's, they really helped encourage me. 8)


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